


six times Bruce Wayne felt like a real father

by Naphorism



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is a Saint, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Ballet, Bruce Wayne Tries, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Cassandra Cain Needs a Hug, Dancing, Dancing and Singing, Dentists, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Jason Todd is a Batfamily Member, Multilingual Character, Parent Bruce Wayne, Singing, Tim Drake Needs a Break, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Young Dick Grayson, Young Jason Todd, and bruce goes "yeah okay" cos otherwise he's in Trouble, but she was wrong!, he's just going "bruce start being a good dad", she just thought no one would wanna see her dance, vaguely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24847228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naphorism/pseuds/Naphorism
Summary: Snapshots from the life of Bruce Wayne: billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, vigilante, and father. He has to admit that last one is probably the most important. As often as he fails in the role of father, the moments where he is successful are almost worth it.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Everyone, Cassandra Cain & Alfred Pennyworth, Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 102





	1. Dick Grayson

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Father's Day to anyone who's celebrating it!  
> I'm a sucker for Bruce Wayne being an alright dad. He's an emotionally stunted grouch, but deep down he loves his kids.  
> Was gonna write all the chapters then post them all at the same time, but I wanted to post on Father's Day and I'm not sure I'll have the last two done in time. So enjoy some absolutely meaningless fluff, and rest assured there's more coming.  
> I'll add tags as I post chapters. Rated T because Jason swears a bit, that's it. There's literally nothing else here that could be anything but G.

Bruce had never really thought of himself as a _kid person_. He knew that there were people who fawned over children as though they were imported exotic pets, and would do virtually anything short of murder for someone under the age of fourteen if they simply asked. While he could concede that kids were cute, he had never had any problems saying no to their little pouting faces.

Looking down at Dick’s pleading expression, Bruce tried to remind himself of this fact.

Looking up at Bruce with huge eyes, Dick asked, “Please may I get one? Please, B?” He clung to Bruce’s arm with surprising strength by child standards: an acrobat’s strength.

“I can take you to any crêperie in the city. Even for dinner tonight, if you want. There’s a particularly good one in the West end, near the Wayne Enterprises building, that I sometimes go to with Kate.” Bruce side-eyed the cart emblazoned with the words _Holy Crêpe!_ set up at the edge of the park. “You don’t need to go here. We can get real Breton crêpes. Savoury ones as a main course, and the ones you already know you like for dessert.”

Dick let his bottom lip wobble ever so slightly and forced his eyes to be even bigger. He was a bit too old to reasonably throw a full-blown tantrum in public, but he certainly wasn’t above manipulating adults by being as sad and adorable as humanly possible. “But I want crêpes right _now_ , and I might not want ‘em anymore by dinner time. It’s right there! Please?”

“Your need for a crêpe is a time sensitive problem?” Bruce raised one eyebrow at Dick, who nodded emphatically in response. “Alright, then I’ll call Alfred and he can drive us to a proper crêperie right now.” He glanced at his watch. They had enough time for that. “It should only take fifteen minutes to get to that good one I was talking about, provided we don’t run into any villains causing roadblocks.”

Shaking his head, Dick insisted, “Why do that? That’s more expensive, and we don’t need to go somewhere in the car when there’s a place right _here_.”

Staring down at Dick, nonplussed, Bruce pointed out, “They might not even be good.”

“I know. But they have a _maple syrup and raspberry_ crêpe, B! Both of those things! On one crêpe!” After a long moment of silence, Dick smiled hopefully and asked, “Steuplé?” in a very small voice.

Dammit. Bruce was _weak_. Haly’s Circus had been full of people from all over the world, he supposed, and Dick was _absurdly_ multilingual thanks to that. He was smart and friendly; of course he had to learn every language anyone ever spoke near him. He was even using the most thematically appropriate language; he definitely knew exactly what he was doing. Bruce almost felt like he was being blackmailed.

Why was it so hard to say no to a kid speaking French?

Grumbling, Bruce pulled out his wallet to the sound of Dick’s cheering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I unveil to the world a headcanon I've always had: Dick Grayson is multilingual. He was raised in a travelling circus and is super friendly! He'd pick up bits of any language someone spoke near him.  
> Also an excuse to for me to write a kid going, "Steuplé?" because if you've ever been a small French kid or been someone who takes care of a small French kid (I've been both) you know it's irresistible, because it's just that adorable. (It's an abbreviation of s'il te plait, which means please.)


	2. Jason Todd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the aforementioned swearing. Keep it up, Jason, you're doing great. (Who didn't swear like a sailor as a 13-year-old though?)

Bruce bumped his shoulder against Jason’s, trying to get him to stop worrying. Personally he didn’t understand being scared of the dentist, but he knew that came from privilege. He had always been able to afford checkups twice a year. He was used to it. For Jason this was a new, scary thing where a stranger was going to stick sharp metal things in his mouth.

Jason turned to smile at Bruce, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Are you going to read your book?” Bruce asked. “The wait might still be a while.”

“No. I—” Jason stopped abruptly, glancing around the waiting room and clutching his copy of _Brave New World_ to his chest. “Never mind. It’s dumb.”

“I’m sure it’s not. Is something bothering you?

Jason glared at his knees and muttered, “I’m too nervous. It was making me feel nauseous, like when you read in a speeding car. Or on the bus, when it shakes you around until the damn words aren’t even sentences anymore.”

“Oh.” Bruce blinked at Jason. “Well, I could read to you, if you want. I’m sure no one would mind as long as I wasn’t too loud.”

“You’d do that?” asked Jason, his eyebrows making a valiant attempt to merge with his hairline.

“Sure.” Bruce cleared his throat awkwardly. “If you want me to.”

Jason frowned, then pointed out, “Everyone’s gonna think I’m illiterate. People already have enough shit on me to last a lifetime just by bringing up who my parents are, or how far behind I was at school before you took me in.”

Bruce scoffed. “I’d love to see any other thirteen-year-old read _Brave New World_. None are smart enough, even if it’s being read to them. Some adults can’t handle it. If anyone wants to criticise you, they don’t have ground to stand on.”

Jason smiled, clearly trying not to grin. He held the book out to Bruce. “Go on, old man. You’d better have some good-ass voice acting planned.”

“Don’t worry.” Bruce smiled back. “I was in drama club in high school.”

“Oh my God, loser,” Jason cackled, eyes lighting up with mirth. He could no longer withhold his grin. “Of course you were. You’re a drama _queen_.”

“You forget that I see you in your pyjamas at breakfast every morning, Jaylad.” Bruce shook his head solemnly, opening _Brave New World_ to the page Jason had dog-eared. “I know all about the shirt that says,” he cleared his throat dramatically, “thespians do it onstage, wanna see?”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Jason hissed, bright red. “Just read me the damn book.”

As Bruce read, “ _The wheel is come full circle; I am here_ ,” Jason looked around the near-empty waiting room shiftily in the way that all thirteen-year-olds do when about to do something they think would be humiliating if seen by a person their own age. He then tilted his head against Bruce’s shoulder so that he could feel the words vibrate as Bruce read them aloud.

Bruce noted that Jason didn’t look at all nervous anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *through megaphone* JASON IS THE BOOKSMART ONE, NOT TIM! This has been a PSA.


	3. Cassandra Cain

Bruce took the nauseatingly pink flyer Alfred held out to him as he entered Wayne Manor’s foyer, trying to make out the words printed across the top in a frustratingly complex cursive font. “P— What? Parents week. What’s a parents week?”

“I believe, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, taking Bruce’s overcoat and suit jacket from him, “it is a week at Miss Cassandra’s dance studio where parents and guardians are permitted to sit in and watch classes. A kind of informal performance. You have the privilege of seeing how far your child has come in their dance training, so to speak.” He folded Bruce’s jackets over his arm in a carefully practiced manner.

“My child,” Bruce echoed, gazing down at the flyer without reading it. “Right. When is this?”

“All of this week, Master Bruce,” Alfred informed Bruce serenely.

Frowning, Bruce said, “But it’s already Thursday.”

“Miss Cassandra did not tell me about it. The flyers were on tables in the school’s lobby, and I had the good fortune to get my hands on one while waiting for her class to end on Tuesday.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell us?” Bruce murmured, very confused.

Alfred shot Bruce a pointed look. “When asked, Miss Cassandra explained that she did not believe it was of any import as everyone would be too busy to attend. I also believe that she and her cohort think themselves _above_ having guardians watch. They are, after all, teenagers.”

“That’s ridiculous. She’s a kid, and there’s no such thing as being too old to have your parents watch you dance,” Bruce insisted, brows furrowed. “It _is_ true that the case I’m working on right now is stubborn, though. I’ve hardly had time to—” He cut himself off when he saw the thinly-veiled glare Alfred was sending his way. He took a deep breath and decided, “I’d like to go.”

“Excellent, Master Bruce. Would you like me to fetch you your car keys?”

“Car keys?” Bruce asked, utterly confused.

“Ah, Miss Cassandra,” said Alfred suddenly, looking at the doorway that lead to one of the parlours. “Master Bruce was just asking me to fetch his car keys. He has expressed an interest in being the one who drives you to dance class today.” He held Bruce’s overcoat out.

Bruce took his overcoat from Alfred in a mild state of shock, and turned to face Cass very slowly. “I,” He got out, his tongue feeling like lead. “I’m excited to see your dancing. The last time I saw you dance was in _The Nutcracker_ , right? You made a terrifying Mouse King.”

Cass smiled slightly and hoisted her dance bag onto her shoulder. “Sword fights and jumps were fun.”

“You looked like you were flying,” Bruce agreed. “I can’t speak for the whole family, but I think they’d all agree that your dancing is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen. I certainly think so. Seeing you dance has always been a privilege.”

Smiling a bit wider, Cass said, “Worked hard on Advanced One. Some exercises are to _The Nutcracker;_ you might enjoy it.”

Bruce smiled back. “I’m _sure_ I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No matter how much people talk about Cass' ballet training, it will still never be enough for me. Gimme the whole family going to watch her perform, or bringing her flowers after taking a Royal Academy of Dance exam. I need it. For mental health reasons.


	4. Tim Drake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I set out trying not to use the "Tim never sleeps and runs only on caffeine" trope, because it's overused, but idk. Shit happens. And it's not mostly about him being tired, so I give myself a pass.

Bruce looked up from his newspaper and glanced around the breakfast room. Something was missing. “Where’s Tim?”

“He has yet to come downstairs,” Alfred replied. “Would you like me to fetch him?”

“That’s alright, I’ll check on him myself.” Bruce pushed his chair back and stood up. “He’s working a big case, and you know how he runs himself into the ground when he's trying to get things done.”

“Indeed,” agreed Alfred. “Best of luck.”

As Bruce made his way through Wayne Manor towards Tim’s room, he noticed something. The closer he got, the more certain he was of what he was hearing. There was music. Something upbeat, maybe some synthesiser. And along with it, there was singing that had to be Tim.

Bruce peered through Tim’s door to see Tim standing on his bed, shimmying his shoulders as though his life depended on it, feet doing a jig through his unmade sheets. Bruce's jaw nearly dropped. He had never seen Tim act like a real _teenager_ before.

“ _—rest of the world! I wanna be the one to walk in the sun!_ ” Tim jumped off his bed and hit the hardwood soundlessly, feet spread wide and hands on his hips. Even if he danced like a drunken chicken, at least his training leant him elegance in landing jumps. “ _Oh girls! They wanna have fun! Oh girls just wanna have—_ ”

Before Bruce knew what he was doing, he had stepped into the room and made his presence known with a scream of, “ _That’s all they really want!_ ” It was too high to be in his range, and his voice cracked. He had no idea what had come over him, but it was worth it to see the shock on Tim’s face.

Tim’s eyes flew open, his face going red. Though he stopped singing, Bruce continued. By the time Cyndi Lauper was shrieking, “ _When the work and day is done_ ,” Tim was mumbling along, looking at Bruce as though he’d lost his mind.

Holding out his hand to Tim, Bruce waited until he took it. Once he did, Bruce spun him five times in quick succession, both of them singing, “ _Girls, they want_. _Wanna have fun. Girls. Wanna. Have!_ ”

Keeping to lead vocals, Tim resumed his dancing. Bruce reverted to backing vocals, and kept up with Tim’s dancing easily.

The song ended on a fadeout, and Tim collapsed on his bed, laughing. “Well, that was humiliating. I didn’t think anyone would check on me.”

“You didn’t come to the kitchen to get coffee. Of course we had to check on you. As for humiliating, you’ve got a good voice. Not sure I can say the same of your dancing.” After a moment Bruce added, “Sleep, Tim. A performance like that has to have tired you out.”

“I’m fine,” Tim insisted, standing and making a beeline for the door. “Coffee, though.”

Putting a hand on Tim’s shoulder to stop him, Bruce insisted, “Sleep. You didn’t last night.”

“You don’t _know_ that.” Tim crossed his arms petulantly, raising one eyebrow.

Bruce cocked an eyebrow back. “As lovely as the impromptu concert was, you wouldn’t have participated while coherent.” He nudged Tim towards his bed. “Goodnight,” he said firmly.

Tim pulled the covers over himself while grumbling, and lay there sulking as Bruce drew the curtains. Just Bruce was about to leave the room, he mumbled, “Goodnight.”

“Sleep well, Tim,” Bruce replied, but Tim was already snoring. It was almost impressive how exhausted he must have been. Bruce looked at Tim’s form outlined against the light seeping through the curtains one last time, then closed the door as quietly as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no members of the batfamily who wouldn't bop the fuck out to 80s pop music, and you cannot convince me otherwise. Even Damian would if Dick was there encouraging him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All feedback welcome, and comments sustain my mortal soul, frankly, so throw 'em at me.


End file.
